She was wearing an extraordinarily beautiful white frock, and it was fluttering in the cool summer air. She was with a bevy of brightly dressed girls but I, very compellingly, felt like she did not belong to them; she was alone. She treaded so softly, she couldn’t crush a flower with her feet. Amidst the entire hubbub at the fair, she was serenity personified.
Occasionally, a stray lock of hair would fall upon her face, which she would then tuck behind her ear with the grace of a painter’s brush-stroke. The snowcapped mountains in the background were not as white and majestic as she was. They were of the earth, but she belonged to the heavens. “She must be an angel,” I thought to myself.
••••
My friends were tugging me towards the rote ping. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to look at her for all eternity. I was totally intoxicated.
The group got the better of me, though. I was forced to abandon my pursuit and go take a ride, a ride I pretended to enjoy, but really did not. The truth is, I wanted to get off as soon as possible and go find her.
I looked in every direction, but she was nowhere to be seen. I even managed to take my gang of friends to an elevated point under the pretext of wanting to get a better view of the place, and yet I could not locate her in that small sea of people.
The crowd was getting bigger by the minute. People were dancing, watching, chattering, bargaining and buying. It was already 2 pm, but the fair showed no signs of slowing down. A Dionysian spectacle had unfolded in the meadow between the mountains. Joy was in the air.
It was quite a surprise when black clouds suddenly gathered in the sky, and the weather turned cold. It poured heavily for a short time, and then it hailed for a while. People had run off in different directions as if in a frenzy. Only the stall-keepers could be seen on the ground, packing their wares and arranging their things.
I was among those who ran very fast in search of shelter. I secured myself a place under a big flat stone that jutted out of the earth among a group of smelly men, women and children. I listened to the abstract music of the rain, and filled my lungs with air that smelled of fresh, damp earth. It took nearly two hours for the rain to stop. I lost all who’d been in my company. It was getting dark, so I set off for home.
I descended a dark trail covered by tall trees along with a group of old women. They walked very slowly. After one hour of descending together, they took a different path. Their voices died down slowly, and I was left completely alone. Darkness had shrouded the world. I could hear the sounds of my footsteps while the singing of a lone bird and the walking of some wild animal accompanied me.
I silently called upon the almighty god of the village kot and prayed. “If you protect me from the ugly ghosts of the forests, I will offer you a pure white pigeon and silver ribbons this Dashain,” I promised him.
I missed home terribly. I wished only to be in the kitchen, beside the warm glow of the fireplace, having dinner. Suddenly, the realisation of how much I loved my Aama came to me. She had tried to talk me out of going to the fair, but I had had my own way. “Kanchha, you are not old enough to reach that far and come back all by yourself,” she’d told me. “More than that, I strongly feel like you shouldn’t go. I can’t say why exactly, I just don’t want you to go.”
I realised the truth of what she’d said then as I walked the dark, lonely path. I tried to run fast, but my new shoes were hurting my toes. I couldn’t run barefoot in the rocky trail, and my heart was beating very fast. I didn’t want to die at the hands of ugly female ghosts. The notion of death made me shudder. Tears streaked down my cheeks.
I could see the rays of a flash light somewhere down the path. The idea that there were people around gave me a new lease on life. I became less fearful. I said to myself, “Maybe, there are no ghosts at all…I didn’t meet one in the jungle…”
As I began approaching the confluence of the little streams, I grew scared. By then the beam was not visible. I knew that they cremated dead people at the confluence. I was more afraid of the specters of the cremation grounds than the ghosts. I tried to cross the stream, but slipped off a stone and fell into the river. I was drenched and certain that a ghost had pushed me off. I got up, didn’t look back, and ran as fast as I could.
After five minutes of sprinting, I met a medley group of drunks and priests who were also headed to our village. They inquired after my family, my father and clan and offered me some sweetmeats they were taking to their families.
They left me at our gate. Aama didn’t say a word, just stared at me. She took me in, rubbed me off with a towel, brought dry clothes, and started to warm my food. Daddy was reading some book under the dim light of the oil lamp and didn’t even glance at me. I ate slowly, thinking, “Ghosts just seem to be a faint-heart’s invention, but angels are a sure-shot truth”. Aama waited on me all the while without saying a word.
I was relieved that I’d arrived home safely. Now that I was within the safety of home, there was nothing to worry about. I could go to bed directly after having dinner and sleep till ten o’clock the next morning.
Aama had put a white sheet on the bed. It had beautiful yellow
flower patterns on it. The sheet reminded me of her. I wanted to see her again. Before long though, the fragrance of the newly washed sheet intoxicated me and I was lulled into a very deep sleep.
I guess it was around midnight when I felt somebody’s presence that I woke up. In the feeble rays cast by the crescent moon that I could see from my little window, I saw a white figure sitting majestically by my side. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was her! I was awestruck, completely speechless.
My fat tomcat entered the room at that moment, and started mewing. I could see that he was very, very scared. Dogs began barking outside when she spoke to me. In her soft, mellifluous voice, as if in a whisper, she said, “You chose me, and I have come to you.”
- Rajesh Poudel
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